Imager's challenge

28

“Ryel will ruin my family, if not worse.” I looked across the study to where Master Dichartyn sat behind his desk. “And the Collegium will do nothing? When I was the one attacked by Johanyr?”

“Rhennthyl, you must understand. The Collegium simply cannot allow you to destroy a thousand years of hard-fought effort that has created the only protection for imagers anywhere in the world.” Master Dichartyn looked calmly at me.

“I’m supposed to sit by and watch this arrogant High Holder destroy my family one person at a time, while the Collegium does nothing?”

“We’re supposed to hazard the lives of hundreds who cannot protect themselves for the sake of a few people?” countered Dichartyn. “Do what you will, but do not involve the Collegium.”

“That’s fine for you to say.” I could feel my anger rising.

“You seem to think that you’re special, Rhenn, and that the world and the Collegium should accommodate to your view. You seem to think that good deeds are always rewarded, and that evildoers are always punished, and that there’s no price to be paid. . . .”

The sardonic belittling in his words touched something . . . somewhere . . . and from I knew not where flame exploded across the study. The entire study was enveloped in it.

Heat flared across my face.

I was lying in my bed . . . and the front of the armoire was aflame.

After a confused moment, I ran to the corridor and grabbed the bucket of damp sand-there were usually five on every corridor-and dashed back into my bedchamber. I immediately imaged a thin layer of sand across the armoire. Most of the flames died away.

I imaged the rest of the sand across the remaining patches of flame, until there were only a few embers. Then I used a towel wetted in the water pitcher to make sure all traces of embers and flame were gone.

Only then did I sit down for a moment, shivering and coughing.

My room stank of smoke, but I slowly rose and managed to open the louvered windows wide enough so that when I imaged cold fresh air into the bedchamber several times, the odor was bearable.

Then I imaged all the ashes and sand into the waste bin and carried it out into the corridor and down to the main level and out to the enclosed rubbish area, where I dumped it all into one of the large waste-wagon beds.

All in all, it was a good two glasses before I got back to sleep. I didn’t sleep well, and I didn’t sleep all that late, and I woke up wondering if I was worrying so much that I’d have more nightmares that called up imaging. That brought a shudder.

I sat up and decided to read through the information gathered by Ailphens before breakfast, although I had to light my desk lamp because the heavy clouds hovering over L’Excelsis made it seem more like the glass before dawn, and I could still smell smoke. I concentrated on the papers Seliora had given me. I had to. The nightmare just added to my concerns.

Ryel’s main holding could only be described as massive-an expanse that stretched roughly some sixty milles east to west and forty north to south and included prime growing and grazing lands, more than a score of small towns, and two coal mines and one iron mine, not to mention the ironworks itself. He or his forebears had never sold any lands within the holding, and the leasehold rentals alone amounted to close to a quarter million golds annually. Based on the finance taxes paid on his earnings from the holdings in ten banques, his banking income was triple that. There was no way to calculate the revenues from the annual sales of grain and livestock, or the proceeds from the mines and ironworks, but the indications were that those exceeded the revenues from leasehold fees several times over. Ryel was also extremely conservative, with no known borrowings or debts.

Considering that an annual net income of a thousand golds a year was more than all but a few thousand people in L’Excelsis-out of more than two million-made, one obvious conclusion stood out: No one was going to be able to ruin High Holder Ryel commercially, not without destroying Solidar itself.

That didn’t leave me too many options, but I’d known that all along. I just hadn’t really wanted to deal with it. I kept thinking about the implications and the possibilities as I shaved, showered in water that was all too chill, and then dressed. I kept thinking all the way to the dining hall.

There, Maitre Dyana was the duty master, and since it was Solayi, she and I were the only masters at breakfast. So I sat beside her, and poured a healthy mug of steaming tea.

“I had a nightmare last night, and I awoke with the armoire on fire.”

“That happens . . . occasionally.” Her voice betrayed concern. “You obviously found a way to deal with it.”

“I did, but . . . I have a rather charred armoire.”

She laughed softly. “You’re not the first. You won’t be the last. Just tell Grandisyn, and they’ll replace it. That’s a contingency that the Collegium has anticipated.”

“Do we . . . lose imagers?”

“Seldom. Those who are strong enough to do such damage are usually strong enough to contain it once their imaging wakes them.” She paused. “It is a reminder of why we always sleep alone and behind leaden walls-or with the help of drugs.”

I’d almost forgotten why all the quarters had lead sheets behind the walls. Almost.

I took a sip of tea, but only a sip because steam was still rising from the mug.

“How are you finding Third District, Rhenn?”

“About as I expected, maitre, with an exception or two.”

“Oh?” She adjusted the silver and crimson silk scarf, almost not looking at me.

“I met one of the taudischefs-Jadhyl. He was extremely well spoken and had the air of education.”

“You expected stupidity in a taudischef?”

“Hardly.” I laughed. “I expected a combination of strength, cunning, and intelligence . . . and the ability to inspire others, but not refinement.”

She actually paused, waiting for me to say more.

So I did. “The part of the taudis he controls looks better than the others, and some of the people actually talk to the patrollers.” I thought about the enforcers in green, but didn’t mention them.

“A mailed fist in a velvet glove?”

“More like a reluctant mailed fist, I think.”

“He won’t last long, then.”

“Why not?”

“If your description is accurate, he has judgment and cares. That approach will gain him support and followers. Support and followers will make him a threat, for differing reasons, to both the Patrol and the other taudischefs.”

“Are you suggesting an unspoken agenda to keep the taudis disorganized and poor?”

“I don’t believe I suggested anything at all. Were I into suggestions, however, why on earth would I suggest something like that to the Collegium’s liaison to the Civic Patrol?”

Keeping a polite face, rather than laughing outright, was difficult. The alternative would have been anger. Neither would have been productive, I was learning. I took refuge in another sip of tea before replying. “I beg your pardon. It was foolish of me to think that the guilds, the factors, and the High Holders would even consider measures, particularly covert measures, that effectively keep the cost of day labor lower for those without contacts or guilds. I cannot imagine that I might have thought that someone without an association with the guilds or factors might marshal political and organizing skills in a way to unsettle a political system that has worked so well for so long.”

“Ill-timed imagination can be more deadly than gunpowder, or imaging,” she replied dryly. “Your fancies about this taudischef might well amuse us, and in a calmer time, they might indeed entertain Master Rholyn and most members of the Council.”

“Not to mention High Councilor Suyrien.”

“Indeed.” She served herself an omelet from the platter held by a server. “I understand these mushroom and cheese omelets are quite excellent. They’re not something my cook does well.”

“Nor mine,” I quipped, since I had no cook and was unlikely to have one anytime soon.

“The bacon is also good.”

I got the message and concentrated on eating.

Once I finished breakfast and took my leave of Maitre Dyana, I made my way back to my chambers, where I considered the difficulties facing me and which steps I should take to deal with each. Part of my problem was that I had too many separate difficulties. Could I address that multiplicity? I was beginning to do so, but I needed to speed up my efforts.

By the time I stepped out of the hack on Hagahl Lane at two quints before ninth glass, I had a better idea of what I needed to do.

As soon as I stepped to the door and dropped the polished knocker, young Bhenyt opened the door. A blast of chill wind almost pulled the heavy oak door out of his hand before he grabbed the brass lever with both hands. “Come in, Master Rhennthyl.”

I hurried inside, and he closed the door quickly and shot the bolt. We walked up the stairs, but I only had to wait a few moments in the main second-level foyer before Seliora appeared. She wore a red sweater-vest over a black long-sleeved silk blouse whose shade and hue matched her black trousers and boots.

“You’re not dressed for riding in this weather.” Those were her first words.

I almost missed the glint in her eyes, but managed to reply, “Neither are you, not in silk, and I fear I still need instruction.”

She laughed, then stepped forward and hugged me. I held on longer than I should have, but she felt so good against me, especially after the way the day-or the very early morning glasses-had gone.

When she stepped back, she said, “I was serious, if not about today.”

“You foresaw me riding in the rain?”

“In bad weather,” she admitted.

“It could come to that. If you and your family will agree, I may have to borrow a horse.”

“I’m glad you mentioned me.” The smile I loved appeared. “The mare is mine.”

“I do love propertied women.” I grinned.

“Just for that, you can sit next to Methyr . . . or the twins.”

“If you sit across from me . . .”

She didn’t carry out on the threat, thankfully, but I did end up between Aegina and Betara, both of whom were most interested in the portrait of Seliora. I really didn’t like discussing unfinished work, but I didn’t want to be rude.

“When will it be done?” asked Betara.

“Several months,” I replied.

“What do you think about it, Seliora?” asked Aegina.

“I haven’t looked at it yet,” Seliora replied. “I don’t like people looking at my designs until they’re done, and Rhenn deserves the same courtesy.”

My only serious question to Seliora’s mother was about the taudis. “Do you know anything about two taudischefs-Youdh and Jadhyl?”

“No one knows much about Youdh. They say that few have ever crossed him and lived. He’s been taudischef for close to ten years now. Jadhyl . . .” She frowned. “He’s an outlander, but Mama Diestra says he’s the most trustworthy of the taudischefs. He won’t tell us much, though, but he’s planning to be taudischef for a long time.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He goes out of his way not to make enemies, and those he can’t charm, and who continue to cause trouble for him . . . they vanish.” Betara smiled ironically.

“A very polite local despot.”

“Less of a despot than most, and he doesn’t let his men take liberties with the locals.”

“What about Youdh?”

“He’s more like the older taudischefs. He doesn’t take slights easily, and he doesn’t think much of women or those less fortunate.”

In the end, I did enjoy the meal, as much for Seliora’s presence as anything, but I left while most everyone was still at the table, although I didn’t see Grandmama Diestra anywhere.

The clouds outside were darkening when I hailed a hack, but because I’d caught the coach earlier than I’d calculated, I had the driver drop me almost directly outside Third District station. Then I hurried inside through a rain so fine, but so wind-driven, that the small droplets stung my face and neck like needles.

The antechamber was empty except for Sansolt, the patroller on the duty desk. I’d only passed a few words with him over the past weeks. Taciturn as he’d been, he’d seemed solid.

“Master Rhennthyl . . . you aren’t supposed to be accompanying someone today, are you? No one told me-”

I shook my head. “I have to meet someone near here, but I was thinking, What do you know about the taudischefs?”

Sansolt glanced toward the door, although no one had entered the station, then cocked his head to one side. “You hear a lot. Some of it might be true. Some might not. There’s four right now in the taudis-you’re talking about our taudis, right?”

I nodded.

“Horazt is the new one on the west end. Grausyn and Lykyt patrol that round. They haven’t had any trouble, but the equalifiers and the Temple types don’t like him, and that could be trouble before long. The chief before him disappeared just before the riots. The east end, there are two, Jadhyl and Deyalt, but Deyalt might as well be the subchief because he goes along with whatever Jadhyl wants. But you’re patrolling with Alsoran, aren’t you?”

“I am. Jadhyl talked to us last week. He said the toughs who attacked us weren’t his.”

Sansolt frowned. “Alsoran said that. Guess I believe it, but . . .”

“You think Youdh was trying to set up Jadhyl or Deyalt?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him. Don’t know as there’s anyone with a good word to say about him.”

“So why is he still taudischef?”

Sansolt laughed. “Anyone who crosses him ends up dead real quick.”

“Have you ever seen him?”

“No one’s ever seen him. I mean, no patroller ever has. Not that I ever heard.”

“Has the captain ever met any of the taudischefs? To get the plaques on the table, face up, so to speak?”

“When he was a lieutenant, he met with Worazt, the taudischef before Youdh. That’s what Melyor said, anyway. Didn’t do much good. The next week some toughs tried to take out a patrol on rounds. The captain hasn’t said anything about meeting any of them since.”

“Thank you. Everything I can learn helps.”

“Sir . . . some say you know Horazt.”

“I do, but not from working with the Civic Patrol. He brought his nephew to Imagisle on a day when I was on duty. The boy is an imager. He’s very young, but he has promise.”

I didn’t like the idea that someone was circulating word that I knew Horazt, because I’d told no one. The most obvious answer was that Youdh had gotten word to Harraf-or someone-at the station because of the time I’d openly walked through the taudis with Horazt.

“An imager . . . from the taudis?”

“Imagers can be born into any family. My father’s a wool factor, but I’ve known several imagers whose parents were High Holders.”

I could tell that surprised Sansolt, but he only nodded and said, “Hadn’t thought of that, but you say so, it must be.”

“Thank you again.” I smiled and turned, heading out of the station.

The wind and rain were stronger as I walked up Fuosta toward South Middle and then east to Dugalle. The Puryon Temple ahead seemed empty, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if people were watching.

A bell struck, the sound coming from an anomen I couldn’t see, announcing the first glass of the afternoon. Of course, Horazt was nowhere to be seen.

I kept moving, walking a ways east on South Middle, and then back, back and forth, for what seemed like glasses, but was probably closer to two quints, before a figure emerged out of the mistlike hard rain.

“Afternoon, Master Rhennthyl.”

“Good afternoon, Horazt.”

“You paid coin to get a message to me. Must be urgent.” He turned and began to walk westward, back toward the Midroad.

I took two quick steps to catch him, then matched his pace. “It might be. Youdh’s put out the word that you don’t like the equalifiers and the Temple priests.”

“So?”

“It doesn’t sound like Youdh’s any sort of friend of yours.”

“Taudischefs aren’t friends with other taudischefs.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Not much I can do about what he feels.”

I waited to say more until we passed an old man trudging eastward. He didn’t even look in our direction, just kept his head down against the fine rain.

“Do your men have something that identifies them as your taudis-men? A kind of belt buckle, a certain cloak, like the green cloaks that Jadhyl’s men wear?”

“You think I should tell you?”

“I’m not asking what it is. I’m thinking that each taudischef’s men carry or wear something like that. I’d like to know if you know what Youdh’s men use, or if Youdh sends messages with a special seal or sign.”

Horazt laughed harshly. “The only message he sends is a slashed throat, with a wide-bladed dagger through the voice box. That’s how he deals with squeals.”

“No tattoos for his men? No jackets of a special color?”

“His enforcers wear purple jackets. That’s only the top ones.”

“Can you get me-”

“You don’t think-”

“Not a jacket. Just a small piece of the material.” I held my fingers barely a digit apart. “Just a shred like that. I’ll pay a gold for it.” Once I had it, I could always image something just a bit larger.

A sly grin crossed his face. “Might be worth the risk at that. If I can get it, I’ll send it with Chelya when she goes to see Shault. You and me, we been seen too much together.”

“I’ll be there. No one will think that’s strange for her first visit.” I’d have to be there, because I didn’t want Shault to see what I had in mind. “Do you want me to give her the gold?”

“You can owe me, Master Rhennthyl. You’re good for it.” He slowed and looked at me. “You really think Shault can make a life as an imager?”

“He has the talent, and he has more chances than anyone I know of from the taudis, but he has to want it. It’s not easy for a taudis-kid because the best imagers are those no one sees.”

“You’re good, or you wouldn’t be a master, and people know who you are.”

“I’ve also been shot at and attacked more times than any other master, and I could have died twice. I wouldn’t want Shault to go through that.”

“He’ll want to follow you.”

I didn’t bother hiding the sigh. “We’re all afraid of that, but we’ll help him all we can.”

“His grandfather was quiet. So was his uncle. They both died young.”

“I understand. Quiet doesn’t always work in the taudis. I can only tell you that I’ll do what I can.”

“That’s all anyone can ask.” Horazt raised his hand. “Later. Don’t get too wet.” He turned and crossed South Middle, walking into a narrow lane on the other side and disappearing into the misty rain.

I kept walking until I was on the Midroad. Eventually, I managed to hail a coach for hire.

By the time I reached my parents’ house and walked up under the portico roof, my cloak was more than a little damp. I lifted the knocker and let it drop twice before the door opened.

Mother stood there. “Rhenn! I thought it might be you. Come in before you get any wetter.” Her eyes went over me. “From the look of your cloak, I don’t know that you could.”

Once inside, I immediately shed the cloak.

“Dear, let me hang that up in the kitchen. The stove is still hot.”

“Thank you. Are you here alone?”

“Oh, no. Your father’s in the parlor. Khethila’s over at Brennai’s this afternoon, but you did see her last week when we weren’t here.” Mother bustled toward the family parlor and the kitchen beyond.

As I followed, I ignored her attempt to inject guilt into the conversation. “I can’t always come every Samedi. I was painting until late yesterday.”

“Whose portrait?” asked Father from his chair, setting down the book he had been reading.

“I’ve been working on several, but the important one is Master Rholyn’s. He’s the Collegium councilor.”

“Khethila said that you were working hard.” Mother stopped at the door to the kitchen. “Can I get you some hot mulled wine or some tea?”

“Tea would be good. I can only stay a glass or so.”

“The kettle’s still warm. It shouldn’t take long.” Mother scurried into the kitchen.

I settled into the chair across from Father, grateful for the warmth from the hearth stove. “I haven’t seen you for a bit. Is there anything new happening?” I doubted that Father would say anything about the problems in Kherseilles.

“There is one thing.” Father beamed. “That dinner we had with Veblynt and Ferdinand last month actually led to a contract from the Navy. One of the supply commanders said that Veblynt had recommended me, and he asked me to bid on a large contract. That was several weeks ago. On Meredi, I received notice that the bid had been accepted.” Father smiled. “That was most welcome.”

“Will it be profitable?”

“A solid profit’s to be had, but the margin on military contracts is lower. Always has been, but it’s not to be sneezed at.”

“No contract backed by the Council is to be ignored,” Mother added, returning with a mug of tea.

I took the mug and held it under my chin, letting the steam warm my face for a moment before taking a sip. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, dear.”

I turned back to Father. “I suppose Veblynt showed up on Jeudi to congratulate you?” I kept my tone idle.

Father frowned. “On Vendrei, actually.” After a pause, he went on. “He congratulated me on getting the bid, but he also said that you were to be equally congratulated for your efforts in dealing with his wife’s most distant relations.”

Mother looked up sharply. “You didn’t mention that, dear.”

“I’m certain I did, Maelyna.”

“Perhaps you did.” Mother’s tone indicated that he had not, but that she was not going to make an issue of it-not at the moment. Instead, she looked to me. “What did Veblynt mean, do you think?”

“I don’t know. I suspect that he was referring to my avoiding problems with the daughter of High Holder Ryel.”

“Why would there be problems?”

“Iryela is most determined, extremely good-looking, and to be as safe as possible, she needs a husband who cannot inherit from her. Imagers fit those criteria. By not angering her, and by choosing Seliora, I hoped to avoid involvements of that sort.” All that I said was true, if somewhat misleading.

For whatever reason, Veblynt had steered the wool contract to Father. While I did not know the reason, I had the feeling that it was strictly to give me time to deal with Ryel . . . or at the least to make Ryel work harder to ruin me and my family. Then, it might have been to force Ryel into making a mistake. I had strong doubts that it was merely to help Father, but how could I tell? I wasn’t about to ask Veblynt . . . not now, at least.

“Seliora is beautiful and well endowed . . . especially coming from a crafting family,” Mother offered.

What she really meant was that she was still surprised to find a Pharsi girl who was as beautiful and well off as Seliora. She was also suggesting that I might have done better to look more closely at Iryela.

“Indeed she is, and her brothers are far more welcoming than Iryela’s brothers would have been. High Holders would prefer not to have imagers privy, even indirectly, to their family and their affairs.”

“That’s a pity,” Mother said. “Is this . . . heiress . . . attractive?”

“She’s quite attractive, if in a cold and calculating fashion,” I replied. “You know I don’t do well with that.” I took another sip of the tea.

“Maelyna, even I know that Rhennthyl needs someone warm and kind, especially since he’s become an imager. All the gold in Solidar doesn’t warm a home or a bed.”

That comment from my father surprised me, although it shouldn’t have, because, for all his bluster at times, he’d always been appreciative of my mother, and seldom said anything unkind. He also didn’t tolerate anyone else saying anything negative about her.

“You and Seliora haven’t had dinner with us recently,” Mother said.

I had to think about that, but she was right. It had been over a month.

“You could come next Samedi. Culthyn has never met Seliora, you know?”

“Could we make it for sixth glass?”

“Of course, dear.”

“I’ll have to send her a note.” Seliora had agreed that we’d go out, and I hoped she wouldn’t mind. “Plan on it, and I’ll let you know if there’s a problem.”

“It would be nice to get to know her better.”

That might well be, but it would be nerve-racking for me. I just smiled.

“Will you keep painting?” Mother asked. “Khethila mentioned something . . .”

“I’ve finished one portrait. That’s of the head maitre of the Collegium. They hung it in the receiving hall. . . .” I went on to talk about Maitre Rholyn’s portrait, but not Seliora’s. It wasn’t far enough along that I felt comfortable discussing it yet, although I’d certainly have to by the next Samedi.